


Letters In Absence

by deathdefied



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathdefied/pseuds/deathdefied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of letters between Dorian Pavus and Pwyll Lavellan while Dorian is in Tevinter following the events of DA:I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters In Absence

**Author's Note:**

> There is some short mention of slavery regarding events in Tevinter, and the sexual content earning an M rating is in silly doodles that Dorian drew, but otherwise, there's nothing worth warning against.

My dearest Inquisitor Pwyll Lavellan:

I could not even wait until I had reached the auberge on the Tevene border before writing to you. I hope you found the stationary box I left (wrapped, tied, with a chocolate atop) on your personal desk. Do not worry about dictating to Varric as you did in the past, I won’t judge your handwriting. If anything, I’d much rather see your own lettering, for it would remind me of home.

Home, is that right? I suppose I’ve come to see home as wherever you are, Amatus. I can feel the ache in my heart growing more painful the further the carriage horse takes me from Skyhold. I wonder if you’ve already noticed that woven blanket I stole off your bed. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it safe--I’m sure it’s some important sentiment to you, what with the similarities between its designs and your vallaslin, but I simply couldn’t help myself. It smells just like you and I need at least a small comfort in the foreign territory that constitutes my homeland.

Please write to me as often as possible. I’ll need some refuge from the political hellhole I’ll be putting myself in. I almost wish I had stolen Josephine along with your blanket, but… An Antivan liaison as well as a Dalish kept man? For shame, Pavus. We’ll make sure the ground we throw you out on is at least swept of horse shit. No, I think it’s best for my own and the Inquisition’s interests if I’m alone here.

But I digress. Write just to tell me about your days, even if it’s as mundane as what you had for dinner or which birds are roosting in the tavern’s chimney. You’ll also need to fill in for me a small bit around Skyhold. Someone needs to remind Vivienne that she’s not actually the resident authority on fine culture (although, I suppose, without me she is), or that Cassandra needs to smile or else her face will freeze with that sneer. Oh, and I also try to conveniently lose sweetbread up near the battlements where that anencephalic boy tends to hang about. Ah! And that reminds me. I meant to draw moustaches all over Solas’ paintings now that he’s abandoned them--they always did need a bit of extra flair. And Varric--well, tell him to keep it up. The world needs his morale boosts in these turbulent times.

My, it’s a good thing I’m writing all this down, isn’t it? I’m not sure how Skyhold will keep it up without me. Alas, I suppose the wheel keeps turning, Mundas keeps spinning, and the pariah returns to the flock. Oh, did I mention there are jerky treats for Lycan in my old nook in the library? They should still be there, unless some other mage sought to claim my hold. If they have, destroy them. I’ll have none of that in my absence.

And, my dearest Wyll, know that I can never miss you more than I do right now. I plan to return as soon as possible, and you should be prepared for more pampering and love than you’ve ever needed in your life.

Yours,  
Dorian Pavus

* * *

 

Dorian of House Pavus:

I hope this letter finds you safely. I also hope my handwriting is legible enough to discerne. I have been practicing quite often, but the common alphabet just seems so convoluted and… difficult to describe. Varric offered to make me an alphabet chart I could refer to, but I realized he was being sarcastic with me. In retrospect, I might have appreciated that chart months ago when I started learning to write in common.

I’m sorry to see you’re missing Skyhold so much. I know you’ll at least enjoy the climate change. A colleague of yours once wrote that you were a “hothouse orchid”, and I have to say I agree. You always looked so miserable out in the snow that I could have melted just to save your expression. Am I cruel to keep you around? No, you would say I’m not the one keeping you around--it’s your dedication to the Inquisition or winning back Tevinter’s honour or ~~whatever excuse you clutched onto that day.~~ I’m sorry, that was too frank.

I sometimes miss the coast of the Amaranthine Ocean when my clan would wander that far east. It was not quite the tropical climate I’m sure Minrathous gets, but the warm sea air combined with the heavy rains did much to restore my spirit after the cold, dry plains we often settled in. I wonder, would you take me boating some day? We could take a little sailboat with just the two of us out on the Boeric, sleep under the stars and feast on fish for days. No, wait, that’s a terrible idea. I know you get seasick.

Skyhold is keeping well without you, however. It must break your heart to hear that we continue to function without your careful eye. Krem broke one of the training dummies the other day. Bull was so proud of him he bought out all the ale the tavern had for a week. Blackwall has already left for the Grey Wardens, and though I’m not exactly sad to see him go, the children in the valley camps are disappointed there aren’t as many new toys showing up in the middle of the night. Josephine’s a little quieter with his departure as well. The mood is quite elevated overall, though. Varric has gone back to teasing Cassandra--particularly with the new ammunition of her being appointed Divine. I silently pray for the day she finally learns to throw it back at him--otherwise she’ll snap and Varric will not have time to regret whatever he’d said.

Lycan misses you. I know you two never exactly got along save my mediation, but she will sit at the top of the stairs to my quarters around sundown, expecting you to waltz up and give her a good pat on the head and a small treat. I… will do my best to fill in for you, I suppose, although… no one can fill the gap that exists in her soul or…

Creators, I miss you so much. I thought I was used to leaving things be, but having the Inquisition around me just makes every person’s departure that much more painful. I don’t miss that blanket you stole off me, but I do miss your warmth at my side, the snark when my expression has darkened as I leave the war room, the security of waking up to your hand on my chest after too short a night… My quarters are too large and empty, like they were before we, ah… became a couple. I might start sleeping in the stables again just to abate my fears.

Don’t hurry home on my behalf, but don’t… Don’t forget what’s waiting for you in the mannerless south, either.

Yours, Pwyll Lavellan

* * *

 

My Dear Pwyll Lavellan,

You’re banned from speaking about how much you miss me anymore. Were it not for the hefty deposit on my suite, I would have immediately uprooted and rushed back to Skyhold in an instant. I won’t say I shed a tear for your emotions, much less needing to lay down after finishing your letter with my face in your disturbingly uncomfortable blanket.

Now that that’s out of the way, I can keep you updated on how things progress in the fine Tevinter Capital. It’s as unruly and cutthroat as I remember it--and as much as I know you won’t understand, yes, I did miss it terribly. I feel much more capable here than I did in Orlais, although the tasks I need to undertake here seem somehow more insurmountable than destroying Corypheus did. Speaking of, did you know there’s a superstition here that saying Corypheus’ name will turn you into a demon? I’ve heard him referred to as the Forgotten One, the Ancient Magister, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, even That Darkspawn Arsehole. I take it upon myself to mention his name as much as possible, if only to relish in the shocked expressions it achieves. I swear, the thing’s been dead for months, but people still fear him just as much as when he was an actual threat.

People are treating me well enough here, if you were worried about that. Luckily I’ve yet to be recognized for any ties to the Inquisition, but that won’t last as soon as I begin to petition the Magisterium. I’ve heard rumour that they’ve been fearing my return to Tevinter--and honestly, if rumour holds any ground they should know better than to feed my ego. I’m meeting tomorrow with a Magister, incidentally. We were acquainted during my apprenticeship through Alexius, and luckily he still shares some of my sentiments regarding reform. Much as it pains me to write, slavery is such a taboo subject when it comes to changing law that I’m convinced it will never be altered in my lifetime. Blood magic rituals are first on my agenda, being already technically outlawed. One foot in front of the other, as they say.

Ah, but politicking in my spare time bores me. So long as I’ll be in Minrathous, I’ve tried calling upon some old friends I had during my time at the Circle. They were just schoolboy friendships, forged through similar studies and forced time together, but it would make me feel a lot more at home and much less lonely if I didn’t spend all my free time cooped up in my suite. You don’t need to worry about me running off with a different man--the people here in Minrathous could never hold a candle to your character. Truth be told, I can’t wait to hear the first rumours fly about my return from my Inquisitor-Slave-Boy or whatever it is they’re saying about us up north. I’ll try to defend your honour when I’m not busy laughing myself into a stupor.

I await the day I can bring you to the Nocen shores without dreading what people would say about you. I know you’d shrug it off in that nonchalant way you do--or perhaps you’d internalize it and blush profusely in that adorable way you do--but I couldn’t stand to hear it myself without having to fight someone there, on the spot. ‘Til then, I will continue to work and forge a better Tevinter Imperium for the good of generations beyond mine--and to erase Corypheus’ name from our annals, especially as a mage to look up to.

Yours,  
Dorian

P.S. Did you know there’s a city in Nevarra named Solas? We passed it on the Imperial Highway to Vyrantium. Do you think Solas ever knew about it? Do you think it was NAMED for our Solas?? Perish the thought.

* * *

 

Dear Dorian,

I know you banned me from speaking of it, but I do need to remind you how much I miss you. Spring is approaching in the Frostbacks, and whenever I see new daffodils pushing up through the late frost, I can only think of how much you perked up after the end of last winter. When the Jacob’s Ladder comes into bloom, I’ll weave a flower crown and have Dagna enchant it so it won’t wilt before your return.

As for Skyhold updates, a foal was recently born to one of my hunters. I’ll graciously spare you the bloody details, but mother and baby are doing just fine. The little horse is so adorable, chasing itself around the modest paddock. Master Dennet wants to move the two out to the Hinterlands so they can exercise properly, but I think it’s too early for either animal to travel that distance. Hopefully the spring melt will come soon and the valley can sustain the little colt.

We’ve also had a small nug infestation in the undercroft! I’m not sure what Dagna was keeping down there, if there are certain mushrooms that attract nugs, but they ravaged her supplies. Leliana was an immediate negotiator in the incident, carefully relocating the labour of nugs and slyly replacing every bit that Dagna lost to them. Josephine winked at me when we were talking about it over tea. Apparently, Leliana’s always had a soft spot for the little rats.

I… confess I only pay much attention to the various animals around Skyhold. You are aware of my weakness. I could tell you about the mundane negotiations I’ve been mediating between Nevarran and Orlesian nobles, or the rather odd dispute between an inch’s oversight in the distance between two stalls in the marketplace. Oh, I could tell you about the new formalwear Vivienne and Leliana insisted I order. Even Cullen conceded that it made me seem very dignified. Bull said, and I quote, “You should leave it in your closet and win over the bourgeoisie the same way you did Dorian.” I think he was referring to my genitals.

I’ve attached a, well, if it were better I’d call it a drawing, but as it is, it’s an attempt to show you how I look with the new formalwear. It’s the best I can do for you at this time. Consider it a bit of a teaser for when you come home.

Much Love, Pwyll

* * *

 

My Lovely Pwyll,

If you don’t respect my ban on speaking of how you miss me, I shall have to think of some punishment that would not also hinder me in the process. I would cease writing, but that would pain me much more than it would you, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll think of something before this letter is through.

Progress with the Magisterium is agonizingly slow. It’s almost as if those ancient oafs want their children to grow dull and stupid under their guidance. They’re trying to lead my country down the path mediocre--I’m trying to lead them down the path extraordinary. On the surface, everyone seems receptive to an actual ban regarding blood magic, but I know for a fact at least three fourths of the magisterium has practiced a blood magic ritual in the past week alone. Thankfully, and I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear this, I am making friends here. Despite their shaky allegiance to Corypheus’ legacy, much of Tevinter is more than happy to know he is no longer threatening the very survival of our world. Knowing that I was involved in his demise has earned me more than enough brownie points to matter where it counts. Did you know there are actual tavern songs about me? Granted, most of them elaborate on my personal life too much, specifically… actually, on second thought, I’d really rather not repeat what people think of you. It’s rather sickening to my own stomach.

I’ve already picked up a mass of souvenirs for you and others for when I return. I may have to send them on prematurely, as I’m afraid I’ll become a hoarder before long with all my gifts. May I spoil one for you? A leatherworker I adored as a boy is still in business here, and there was a gorgeous quiver on display in his shop window. It has delicate gold filigree that was apparently inspired by the ruins of Arlathan, and I knew I had to buy it for you at once. It’s more art than a practical tool for the field, but I thought you might appreciate some recovered art from your ancestors. I’m only ashamed it had to be at the hands of a Tevinter artist.

I… feel the need to mention my family at last. Though I have yet to see either of my parents proper, I do recognize many of their servants in the market or running between Magisters in the capitol. The way they regard me is… mixed, as though they want to revere me or revere my connection to you, but cannot belie their loyalties or… perhaps they’re wary of the nature of our relationship. The longer I spend in Minrathous, the more often I get a sick feeling in the very pit of my gut. I… I love you, Amatus, more than I could ever say, even if I spent every minute writing it and thinking it and screaming it to high heaven. But I scare myself, thinking… terrible thoughts, thoughts I don’t dare burden you with, simply because of your ancestry and my privilege by virtue of my blood. At night, alone in my suite, clutching hopelessly to the blanket that smells less like you with each passing week, I contemplate cutting you loose for mercy. The dark thoughts echo in the back of my mind, that perhaps Mother Giselle was right, and that you’d be much better off without my ill influence over you.

But I am a weak man, and I need you far too much.

On a lighter note, I drew you something in response to your (rather handsome!) rendering of your formalwear.

With Love,  
Dorian

* * *

 

Dear Dorian,

As much as I’d love to respect your ban on stating how much I miss you, I appear to be physically incapable of not stating it at least once per letter. The doctors tell me it’s fatal, and ~~that only a true love’s kiss can~~

Just… disregard wherever that last sentence was heading.

We’ve had a few injuries since I last wrote you. Apparently, a couple of Cullen’s troops had a spat that carried over onto the training grounds. One man is down two fingers, while the other is down her dignity. Bull made sure to buy both of them as much liquor as it would take to drown both their sorrows and misgivings.

In an unrelated incident, Sera shot me. No, that was a terrible way to tell you about that. It was nothing grievous, but I do have another scar to adorn my shoulders. She got the best of me again with another trick shot challenge, and for some stupid reason, I thought recreating the 3 Day Siege of Serrault was a good idea. It was windy, we were using glass arrows, and… We were both a little more than intoxicated. See, this is what happens when you leave us unsupervised! As I said, I’m not grievously injured. The fact that I’m able to write with this arm is testament to that. However, as a downside (mostly for Sera), I won’t be taking up any trick shots for a long time.

I’ll be overseeing a small troupe in the Dales over the next week or so, so I may not be as speedy in returning your letter as I have been. When I get back, however, I’ve been promised a vacation at the hot springs up the mountain. It will be a little lonely without you to accompany me, but I suppose it will be more… uneventful. Relaxing, perhaps. Even Vivienne has agreed to come along. I suppose we’re all feeling the effects of lay work without any ancient evils to slay. Perhaps you might do us all a favour and send some of your magister friends south for us?  
Since I know you’ll protest if I alert you to it beforehand, I’ve included another blanket with this letter. Consider it a replacement for the one that’s beginning to lose my musk. I also made sure that Lycan slept on it for the night as well, just to guarantee that Pwyll Lavellan Aroma that you seem to die for.

Also, a response to your drawing: another rendering of my own. This is becoming fun!

Ma’arlath, Pwyll

* * *

 

My Love,

I’ve finally come up with a suitable punishment for each time you disregard my ban. I’ll donate an extravagant amount of money to some poor bloke in the market so that he might pay back his servitude contract and move his family somewhere nice. Eventually, I’ll drain myself financially and be forced into destitution so penniless I’ll die of starvation and you’ll be burdened with the guilt of Dorian Pavus’ death for the rest of your life. There. Now you may never speak of how much you miss me again, lest I do something incredibly self-martyring and good-natured.

Now, then. Further business: You are hereby also banned from playing with Sera, or whatever it is you want to call it. I might also contemplate banning you from the Iron Bull, as he could easily snap you in half if you’re not careful. I’ll write to Cassandra and have her take your bows away--No, that would never happen. She’d scoff and tell me not to involve her in our roleplay or, whatever. I’ll write to Leliana, then! She’ll take this matter seriously. And you would never know what of yours would go missing until it is all too late. (Imagine my devious laughter here.)

Ah, but I did have something important to tell you. After weeks I am finally making a headway! I believe I’ve influenced enough sons and daughters and spouses and mistresses that they’re taking the Magisterium to vote. I’ll spare you the politics because it is incredibly dull, but this is a huge move. The Magisterium rarely does anything without multiple people and the old gods themselves twisting their arms. Sadly, I’m afraid I’ve attracted as much negative publicity as positive here. I was in the tavern below my suite last night and a man threatened to… well, he was incredibly drunk and threatened me fully, and were it not for my coin greasing the barkeep’s palm, I’m afraid of what would have happened. I’ve been trying to keep quieter lately, and I hate myself for it. It feels just like when I’d have to hide during my adolescence. It’s like lying by omission. I suppose this does remind me why I left in the first place, and what led me to the Inquisition and…

I won’t torture you with my misery and loneliness, but do know I will refuse to leave your side for at least a week once I return. I suspect at least two of those days will be spent in bed alone, so… get your cardio in before I arrive, because I won’t let you have it so long as I’m there. Have a teaser in the form of lewd drawings that I can’t wave around in Minrathous on the back of this parchment.

Te amo (see, I can use my native tongue too),  
Dorian

* * *

 

Dorian,

I’ll first apologize for taking so long to write. We were ambushed coming back from the Dales by some straggler red templars. Most of the men under my command were so tired from the weeks out that we were almost unprepared--I suppose the Templars had planned well. Luckily, Cullen’s troops were meeting us halfway to escort us through the mountains, and they were only a couple hours’ ride out. I’m fine, mostly unscathed, but we did lose a few injured, including a young Ferelden woman named Smithson that I’d begun to call friend. I suppose that is how things progress in the way of war.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start this letter on such a poor note. I’m looking forward to a dip in the hot springs tomorrow but had to write to you immediately. I won’t mention my own emotions for fear of you doing something self-destructive, but I know how much you would have loved to accompany us. You could have enjoyed a warm, bubbly soak while I gently massaged your shoulders and kissed that small nook behind your ears that still makes you shiver to this day…

I’m sorry, having written that I immediately had to step outside and let the mountain air dry off my cold sweat. I might even have to break for tea before I can continue writing this lett

Apologies, and disregard the cookie crumbs ground into the parchment. Like the wings of fate herself, Josephine came up with a tray of tea and biscuits and we had a short chat by the fire. She had me sign some grievance letters to the soldiers we lost in the Dales, and I made sure to include a personalized note about each of them for their families. As you well know, Cullen makes sure to reimburse their families well in the event of the Inquisition taking one of their lives.

Now that that matter’s done… What was it I was going to tell you? Oh! While you’ve been fit to enjoy the noisiest company you could, I’ve been spending most of my time simply sitting with Cole. It’s refreshing to hear about the woes of other people beyond myself, even if it does pain my heart--I know Cole is taking care of them, in his own way. Sometimes his mind does stray to me, but he’ll squeeze my hand and do that awkward smile, and it’s almost like one of my siblings from my clan, long ago, comforting me simply by being. I relish the quiet moments in Skyhold, at dusk and dawn, when only the crickets and horses bother to make any noise. The older I get, and the further from that final battle against Corypheus time becomes, the more I realize how important it is to take in these moments. I hope you’re making your own quiet moments in Minrathous, though, with all those people bustling about, I can’t imagine you can find any quiet space. Under order of the Inquisitor himself, I demand you spend at least one morning by yourself, in the quietest corner you can find, simply watching the sunrise and being alone in your thoughts.

I won’t keep this letter long. I could go on for days just telling you about how that new foal is developing or the literal shit Lycan got into (you’re lucky you missed that), or how Vivienne lost one of her cloaks to a massive surprise gust through Skyhold (and how Cole was conveniently on the battlements just in time to catch it), or how the mage tower caught fire when Niels underestimated the force of a “small” reaction, or that Lycan found a new friend in one of the barn cats Dennet keeps to chase out rats. As it is, I guess that sentence will suffice. Anaïs (you must remember her?) offered to rebraid my hair as soon as I came through the gate, and… I would enjoy her company, I suppose. Write soon, the weeks in which I could not receive your letter were agonizing.

Much love, Pwyll

P.S. I hope you saw the drawing on top before you proceeded to read the letter. I also hope you couldn’t wait to open the envelope in the privacy of your own quarters (ha ha ha).

* * *

 My Dearest Pwyll,

Firstly, was that drawing meant to embarrass me? My grandmother drew more explicit smut in her sleep, and she was celibate her whole life, save bestowing my ungrateful father unto the world. I think Cassandra’s dreams would have found your drawing chaste by even the Chantry’s teachings. However, your attempt was adorable and I do appreciate it, but if you’re looking for anatomical references, just lift the edge of your smallclothes (oops, I forgot you don’t wear any!).

Secondly, I resent you trying to weasel your way out of my ban by turning around and placing the blame on me. You can’t hide your emotions behind a masque of my own. I believe I said two days spent in bed with me when I return? I’m upping that to four. I’ll drive you mad to repay you for making me pity you so terribly.

I’ll also have to accelerate my schedule here so I can return to Skyhold as soon as possible. Those southern mages sound absolutely useless without my guidance. I won’t let the magic standards in the Inquisition fall without me, and Maker knows Vivienne won’t care enough to get her hands dirty with the common mages. (Don’t let Vivienne find this, I’m actually quite afraid of her). I must admit I have missed the academic air of Minrathous, despite the obvious shortcomings of moral conduct in magic research. They care so much for progress here… albeit progress of their own interests. I’m sure if I can tap into that passion, I’ll turn more minds toward social progress as well. Wish me luck, although I’m sure you’ve been praying for me since the moment I left.

I… also feel the need to tell you about this. While cutting through the plaza to visit a colleague the other day, I strayed from my normal path, just to have a bit of new scenery in my commute. I… almost regret it, to be honest. I saw a terrible man, dragging a Dalish slave to a caravan. He looked terribly miserable, and when I saw him, I… I froze. I froze and I was absolutely frightened to death. I’m so sorry, but I thought of you, and I thought of running or bashing that man’s head in or freezing him on the spot or crying, but instead, I did nothing. I was speechless and helpless and I am so ashamed of everything I am. The man had Vallaslin the same colour as yours, and in that moment I remembered why I was so frightened for you and bringing you here and why you can never, Never, visit Tevinter so long as it remains as it is. When the carriage left, I felt freed from my self-made paralysis, and I was angry, absolutely “pissed” as Fereldens say, at myself, my cowardice, the disgusting habitual nature of my peers… I’m so, so sorry, Wyll. Know that I am doing everything in my power to change this. That I would sooner die now than allow such a thing to happen to you or your family. That I would never subject you to even the prejudice of the people of Minrathous, for I love you too dearly to hurt you so.

Now, on a lighter note, I have gotten you more gifts. Since you gave me a new blanket to remind me of you, I’m sending you back the old one which should sufficiently smell of my musk now. I’m saying it hasn’t been washed in months. I’m sorry. Also, I’ve attached the drawing you meant to complete but were far too bashful to properly complete. Enjoy!

Forever yours,  
Dorian

* * *

 

Sparkler,

I don’t know what you did to Rosie and frankly, I’m not sure I want to know, but the kid almost fainted on the spot at reading your last letter. Apparently, he was incapable of writing and told me to write something in lieu of him. So… Here’s something? I can’t talk kinky the way you both do. I’ve looked over the Inquisitor’s shoulder and some of the stuff you’ve written him and it puts even my darkest dreams to shame. Calm down there, man, and save some of that for the rest of us.

Also, since I haven’t heard from you in about seven months, I hope you’re doing well. Keep up the good work or fight the good fight, whatever it is you’re doing in Tevinter. Makerspeed, or… whatever. Basically, stay safe. Rosie would be a lost puppy without you.

Regards,  
Varric Tethras

* * *

 

Inquisitor Pwyll Lavellan, Herald of Andraste, Saviour of Thedas, etc etc,

I’m terribly sorry for embarrassing you so. I didn’t realize you would take it so poorly considering your… attempts at the same… subject, I suppose. I’ve also felt so cooped up and constrained here in Minrathous that any chance to flaunt my sexuality drives me a bit over the edge, as it were. Oh, for the chance to spend a quiet evening at home with you, even just demurely watching the stars on your balcony. How I long to press my face to your warm neck, to trace the freckles down your stomach and feel your shy quivers beneath my hand. I want to kiss every scar on your body, especially that rather handsome one I love on your lip. I miss the feel of your arms safely around me, drawing me gently from the Fade each morning, reminding me that the past year and more has not been a terribly wonderful dream. I miss your chapped lips, always too gentle against my hungry flesh, your kind eyes never once resting on my surface, never once taking me at face value. I miss how genuine and sweet you are in a world where people constantly threaten to suck that dry. Maker, I can’t stand one more second here in Minrathous. I long for home, I long for Skyhold and the work to be done for the Inquisition. I know, what I’m doing here is important, and things are changing little by little. I’ve started a ball rolling that’s soon to have too much inertia to be stopped. But the Inquisition is doing so much more work, and they started at a much higher plane than Tevinter could aspire toward. You’ve opened my eyes too much to the injustices of the world, the privileges I resent of my homeland and my fellow humans. I’ll trade all my comforts in the world, all the riches and gifts I’ve accumulated through my prestige, all my sly connections and stately acquaintances just to return to the cold, wet, shit-stained fortress that I now call home. I would hold you before me at the world and declare our love, my allegiances elven and qunari, dwarven and human, my distaste for the slavery Tevinter tries to pass off as indentured servitude, for the lost centuries of Elven culture at the hands of my brethren that they continue to execute in this age. You have changed me so much, and I hate you for it, but I do not regret a single moment that I have spent with you and the Inquisition. I love you so much, Inquisitor Lavellan, and I want you to order me back to Skyhold ASAP.

All my love and yours,  
Altus Dorian of House Pavus

* * *

 

Lord Dorian of House Pavus,

I’ve made an official declaration, ratified by Josephine Montilyet, Official Ambassador of the Inquisition, recognized by Cassandra Pentaghast cum Divine Victoria of the Orlesian Chantry, carried out by my own hand, that of Inquisitor Pwyll of the Dalish clan Lavellan. You are henceforth prohibited from ever speaking again of your yearning in my absence, on threat of exile from Orlais and cutting of ties of any further trade between your house and the Empire of Orlais, by order of Empress Celene Valmont I.

… Was that convincing? I’m sure your heart stopped in its tracks. I’m also sure you’re now laughing excessively, since I know you far too well. I’m sorry, I knew I had to get you back somehow, and this has been weeks in planning and with some behest of Varric’s.

Maybe I shouldn’t have made so many namedrops, but from what I’ve learned of Orlesian culture, that’s the only way to garner someone’s respect in the political realm.

I won’t order your return to Skyhold despite your pleas. You can do so much more in Tevinter, and I know you care so deeply that if you left it here, you would hate yourself in the future for not doing everything in your power. You’ve scarcely been gone eight months, and real change takes much longer to enact. Minrathous wasn’t built in a day, or… whatever that Tevene saying is. I’ve heard some people say “The Archdemon wasn’t slain in a day” and even “Corypheus wasn’t felled in a day”, but I try my best to ignore that latter one.  
And don’t worry about your safety for any reason. Both Leliana and Varric have spies that have been watching you since the day you left. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I figure you might not find the idea of someone watching you in your sleep overly comforting. I, of course, still worry for you every day, since rumours fly twice as fast as the truth, but I have full trust in the Inquisition and, moreover, you. Remember what I told you of Andruil’s teachings? Fly straight and do not waver. Bend but do not break. Together, we are stronger than one. Stay strong, ma’nehn, and ~~know I love you just as much as you love me.~~  
~~I love you more with each passing.~~  
~~I miss you as much as I love~~    
My love for you is impossible to sufficiently describe in words. We’ll be reunited in no time.

Na’u, Na’var, Pwyll

* * *

 

Months later, just over a year since Dorian departed for his homeland, Skyhold continued functioning much the same as it did during its inception. Cassandra had just departed to begin her duties as Divine, much to her personal dismay. Varric was arranging transport to Kirkwall, though how he felt about leaving Skyhold was masqued to all but himself. Vivienne was awaiting Cassandra’s restoration of the circles, though Wyll suspected she enjoyed tutoring the naive mages of the Inquisition. Bull was collaborating with Cullen in training new troops, and Krem would often say how he never seemed happier. Blackwall had survived his Joining, the news of which Josephine greeted with a smile and a blush. Sera, despite her misgivings, kept a constant eye on Cole and learned to follow up his help with assistance of her own. She most often cherished children, particularly those of fallen Inquisition soldiers, and had secretly taken to baking in the wee hours of the morning for special treats for them.

Wyll sighed, tired, thankful for the moments he wasn’t being carted around as a political prize of Orlesian nobles. The colt born last winter had grown up and was looking to be a fine hunter, just as fast and fearless as his mother. Lycan’s cat friend had had kittens, one of which Wyll kept and named Dorian in his loneliness. He knew it would be incredibly confusing once Dorian returned, but he’d worry about that in the future. For now, it was a small comfort of a forlorn heart.

Wyll was chatting with Harding in the tavern one evening, discussing the difference between Dwarven and Elven bow construction. They had nearly come up with a perfect combination of the two that could be sent to Harrit for design when one of Cullen’s runners called Wyll’s name and saluted.

“I’ve a message, ser,” the young woman said, and seeing Wyll’s expression darken, quickly continued. “It’s nothing bad, apologies asked. But the Commander did know you’d like the hear the news as soon as possible. Ser Pavus’ carriage is being escorted through the pass this moment. Commander Cullen said you’d like to be at the gates to greet him.”

Wyll immediately beamed and, apologizing to Harding (who simply nodded in understanding), rushed out the door and flew down the courtyard stairs. He knew it would still be an hour until the carriage arrived, but after a years’ absence, Wyll could not feel the distance more strongly.

Wyll paced anxiously, not able to sit still ten minutes into his wait. He rushed to his room, remembering the enchanted flower crown he’d made late last spring, and then remembered the Antivan cacao he’d bought for Dorian’s return, and made a third trip just to change into something less grungy than the comfortable training clothes he’d taken to wearing most days when he didn’t need a dress uniform. Lycan ran back and forth with him, the dog feeding off her master’s energy, barking happily in the courtyard. Wyll suspected she also knew Dorian was returning. He hoped Dorian wouldn’t mind canine kisses alongside elven ones.

A guard called for the gate to open as the sun descended, painting the courtyard purple and orange. A large mahogany carriage pulled by two warmbloods glided across the main bridge, while a man in bright white silks waved wildly out one of the windows. “I return, dear Skyhold!” he proclaimed, blowing kisses to each guard he passed on the way.

The carriage had barely stopped when Dorian forced his way out and, without even having looked around, scooped Wyll into his arms and crushed him, greedily breathing in his essence. The two embraced for what felt like mere seconds, but must have gone on for minutes. Lycan barked happily while men and women helped unload the carriage, a scout directing them to Dorian’s quarters.

Dorian pressed a single kiss to Wyll’s forehead, but Wyll grabbed his jaw and forced more kisses onto him while Dorian protested. “Amatus, he laughed, trying to escape Wyll’s mouth. “We’re in public, please!”

Wyll laughed back, talking between kisses. “This isn’t Minrathous, you don’t need to hide!”

Dorian finally managed to break away from Wyll and began describing the last year, though Wyll could remember all of it from letters. Dorian reached into his cloak and pulled out the drawing Wyll had sent and flashed them about, beaming proudly as if he had commissioned them himself. Wyll placed the enchanted flower crown upon Dorian’s head and kissed his cheek, then showed him the Antivan cacao he’d bought, that Josephine swore it would make the best hot chocolate either of them had tasted, and that he’d been waiting half a year to try it. Dorian promised Wyll more presents than he’d ever seen in his lifetime, oh and has Cassandra or Vivienne left yet? He even had presents for them. The bulk of his luggage was for the Inquisitor, however.

Wyll told Dorian to make his greetings to everyone while he oversaw the unpacking of his carriage. Dorian sped off, returned to kiss Wyll’s hand and promise more later, then ran off to the tavern, loudly, happily. Wyll quietly untacked the horses and led them to fodder, but a beaming smile remained on his face. He helped the servants carrying Dorian’s excessive luggage, and when Dorian’s quarters in the library were stuffed tighter than an Orlesian treasure room, told everyone to take the rest of it to his own quarters.

In his tower, Wyll sat surrounded by Dorian’s lavish gifts, all wrapped in sharp-looking black and gold paper, the edges of which were stamped with red wax. He sipped his tea calmly, and though he wanted Dorian to get his fill of the others in Skyhold, also wished he would hurry up. Wyll had never felt so hungry for another’s presence in his whole life, not even when he was sent from his clan to the conclave which ignited the events that lead him to this moment. Wyll steadied his breath, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of his tea and the thick, feather-adorned blanket Dorian had bought in Minrathous. Lycan snoozed pleasantly, her head resting on a huge wyvern bone Dorian had immediately instructed Wyll to unwrap for the hound.

Wyll almost jumped when he heard quick footsteps coming up the stone stairs of his quarters. Dorian grabbed Wyll, causing him to spill tea all over the expensive wrapping, and neither of them cared.

“I am a weak man,” Dorian whispered, pressing his forehead against Wyll’s. He fulfilled all the promises of his past letters, kissing first Wyll’s forehead scar and then his cheekbone, then the accompanying scar on his lip, then his mouth, his hands never knowing where to rest or which part of Wyll’s body to explore. Wyll laughed, forgetting how Dorian’s moustache tickled against the soft skin of his face, trying kiss Dorian back but never able to keep up.

“And your hair has gotten so long!” Dorian marvelled, running his hands through Wyll’s twists, tied neatly behind his neck. Wyll could feel stubble on the edges of Dorian’s jaw and knots in his shoulders and back: weeks, months of stress that settled heavily on the other man and refused to work its way out.

“Did you achieve what you wanted?” Wyll said plainly, holding Dorian’s head to his chest.

“No,” Dorian replied, listening to Wyll’s fluttering heart, absorbing the relentless heat of his core. “But I was homesick. Let my letters suffice in my absence.” Dorian held Wyll’s head between his soft palms, looking deep into his eyes. Wyll’s heart fluttered and manifested as a blush down his cheeks. Dorian smiled at this. “I will never stay that long from you again so long as I live.”


End file.
